


Mistakes

by RaceyBoi



Series: Thorbruce Week 2018 [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, ThorBruce Week, oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 07:31:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15552726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaceyBoi/pseuds/RaceyBoi
Summary: Day 3- Thor has his first experience with bad media after a mission goes horribly wrong, or “comfort”.





	Mistakes

**Author's Note:**

> TW- Falling buildings, crushed to death

Before there was pain, there was success. The heat of the moment. The exhilarating feeling of accomplishment. That blinding sin known as pride. The gratification and delight that comes along with being helpful, heroic, honorable. Thor was a warrior of light. Once again, he saved the city, the world, and maybe some places in between. He was a hero. A good guy.

Until he turned around. 

Thor’s smile dripped from his face like acid burning away at his worth. The building seemed to fall in slow motion. Each second stretched on and dragged out the moment of Thor’s accidental betrayal. The moment Thor will be violently berated for, overshadowing the millions of reasons he should be praised.

“No!” he yelled and ran towards the crumbling structure. 

He was almost there when the air got knocked from his chest. Strong arms wrapped themselves around him as he went flying through the air to crash on top of a nearby car. Thor shoved himself off of the creature under him, who cushioned his fall. 

“Why did you do that?” he barked, furious.

“Hulk save Thor.” Hulk pointed to the falling building. “Blondie not have made it.”

Before his eyes, tons of concrete, glass, and metal came crashing down upon the busy streets of New York City. Those who tried to get away during the battle but weren’t fast enough, those scurrying out of buildings in desperate attempts to get to safety, or those hopelessly waiting outside for their loved one were crushed. Screams and the deafening sound of asphalt collapsing were sirens in Thor’s ears. Horror grabbed hold of his heart and painted its bloody self on his face.

The self-proclaimed protector of Midgard, murderer of a thousand innocent lives. 

The air in Thor’s chest left his lungs once more, but it wasn’t caused by Hulk. He hasn’t felt this helpless since his mother died. Running desperately as the dust settled, he yelled into his com to help search for survivors. 

They found there weren’t many.

Friends tried to comfort him, assure him that it happens to everyone, but Thor wasn’t anyone. He was a god. He was a prince, heir to the glorious throne of Asgard. He has prided himself on protecting his people for ages, yet how can he protect them if he can endanger his second home so easily. What’s to say he won’t take Asgardian lives next?

Additionally, not everyone got to view the results of their actions up close. Most can look away, pretend it never happened, suppress the noise and memories. Others grieve invisible faces they’ll never know. Thor, though, will remember the ruins of people and asphalt. The blood and cries and misery caused by his hand. He engraved each citizen into his brain, standing witness to a myriad of loss. He’ll remember the faces of those who had them and the remains of those who did not.

From outside his room, the news was blaring from a forgotten television. The man sounded angry. His voice was powerful, passionate, and perspicuous, despite traveling through a wall. He demanded for Thor to be punished. The hatred spewed from his lips as he argued that mutants and aliens do more damage than good. 

“Heroes are a menace to our society! Their mere existence instigates battles and puts a target on our fare city’s back! This is what happens when we let aliens — freaks — into our home. They wreck our buildings, endanger our children, and murder our loved ones! I will not sit by and watch idly as more lives are ruined by these so-called-heroes.” With each word, more venom crammed its way into his loathsome tone. 

“I demand there to be justice! How are we expected to move forward as a society when we’re too busy cowering from criminals who only show up because they want to challenge the mighty Avengers? When will we, as a society, acknowledge the danger they place us in? We should be treating them the same way we treat mutants, x-gene or no x-gene! They may look like us and they may acts like us, but they are not! Just because Thor doesn’t look like the Hulk, that doesn’t make him human. That doesn’t make us safe. Don’t let his chiseled features and blond hair fool you, he is a menace. His existence is a crime. He is-”

The tv clicked off. The sudden silence was followed by a soft knock, which Thor recognized immediately.

“Come in.”

Bruce entered the room quietly. He sat next to Thor, who was laying on his bed while staring at the ceiling. He didn’t need to ask how Thor is doing. He knew the shame of hearing your name on the news, the despair of innocent blood on your hands. How it feels like hot fire pulling at your chest and how the refreshing salt of tears was, more often than not, the only thing that could cool it. Until it rose again.

“That guy is wrong, ya know.”

“About?” Thor muttered.

“Come here.” Bruce scooted onto the bed before placing a pillow on his lap. Thor lazily sat up, inched towards him, then laid his upper body in his husband’s lap. He snuggled in, facing Bruce with one arm under the pillow and the other on the side of the smaller man’s waist. He moved his thumb, absentmindedly playing with the hem of the shirt to subconsciously distract himself.

Bruce smiled warmly. He ran his fingers through golden locks of hair as he spoke, his voice soft. “You we’re doing your job, you didn’t mean to–”

“My job is to protect.”

“You did protect.” Bruce tried to recall what he was told by Steve. “If it wasn’t for you then millions more would have died. You ended the fight, Thor. You protected the world like you always said you would.”

Thor shook his head as he rubbed the fabric in between his thumb and index finger. He couldn’t help but relay the event over and over in his head. A great warrior would have been more observant. A great warrior would have thought of another way. A great warrior would have saved his people. He was praised as the most powerful man on Asgard, yet he fell short. Eldest son of Odin, a failure. 

“You’re a hero, honey. That won’t change, no matter how you look at yourself or how the media paints you.”

“They’re calling me an abomination.” Thor mumbled and something about the way his voice shook sent ice up Bruce’s veins. Thor hadn’t had any experience with poor press and, while he was indeed a man of action, he always valued words. Although he had a tendency to be a little prideful, he was always humble. He allowed opinions to seep into his bones for the sake of making himself a better king. He was starting to believe these ones were right. “They said I don’t belong on this planet, that I’m a danger–“

“What they said doesn’t mean shit!” Bruce yelled and for a moment they were both taken aback by his sudden outburst.

He exhaled slowly, taking a moment to regain himself before apologizing. Merciless media hit a little too close to home. He learned how to ignore and block out their harsh, threatening words after years of ridicule and isolation. Now he was standing witness to his husband’s reputation’s funeral and it was somehow harder to swallow. Thor was an extrovert. He loved pleasing the masses and having public conversations. He couldn’t lock himself away like Bruce did. He didn’t have the luxury of a private lab to wither away the night, to chip at the painful memories until they were repressed into the back of his head. What he did have was his warrior-like devotion and someone to hold him. Their two situations weren’t comparable by far, yet their emotions were somewhat the same. Bruce conjured up the general gist of what he wished someone would have told him.

First, he motioned for Thor to sit up. Then, Bruce scooted closer to him and grabbed both hands in his own. He wanted to make sure Thor was listening. He had to know he understood, that the words would sink through his pain to hopefully become at least the ghost of comfort. When Thor looked into his eyes, blue lightning into pools of brown, Bruce started slowly.

“You’re not a menace for acting on impulse. You’re a hero, Thor. Accidents happen whether you’re an alien, mutant, or man, but think of all the people you’ve saved. Think of the people who stop you for pictures and the kids wearing Thor costumes on halloween, the thank you letters and fanart. You’ve saved so many people that we humans probably don’t even have a number that goes high enough to count. You’re a god and you still risk your life constantly for the smallest man. The media looks over all of this, that’s why their views do not matter.” Bruce rubbed calming circles on the back of Thor’s hand. 

“They don’t see every other part of you. They don’t see when you carry me to bed or when you take a bug outside because you refuse to kill it. When you climb trees for a scared cat or when you help people cross the street. When you tear apart the living room searching for Clint’s hearing aids, when you fly around the city helping some random family search for their kid. They don’t see this. They wouldn’t call you a terror if they did.”

Thor wiped his eyes as Bruce continued. “You’re the most remarkable being I know and I don’t even want to think about what I’d be like without you, Thor. You’re amiable, loyal, determined, inspiring, brilliant, goofy, creative. Most importantly though, you’re a hero. Nothing can take that away from you. Nothing. Understood?”

Thor nodded before pulling Bruce into his lap for a tight hug. They sat for a while in silence as Bruce held Thor, until they naturally pulled apart. He placed a gentle hand on Thor’s cheek and leaned in for a caring kiss.

“I love you so much.”

“I love you too.”

In the following weeks, the two attended funerals, raised money, and provided aid however they could for the families of those hurt or killed. Bruce held Thor through the night and squeezed his hand in pubic. He kept him grounded, distracted, and sane. The guilt remained nested in his chest, roaring like thunder in lapses of silence, yet he only allowed negative media outlets to further his determination.

There was no way he could completely make up for his mistake. There was no way to bring back the dead, erase the pain, heal the injured. Still, Thor did what he could and Bruce stood at his side devoted and comforting. All the while.


End file.
